


Like A Drum (Baby Don't Stop Beatin')

by starlight_starbright



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arguments, Avengers Movie Nights, BAMF Avengers, Bets, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Returns, Cuddling, Dates, Dirty Talk, Endearments, Explicit Sexual Content, Fuzzy blankets, Gentle Sex, Hot Chocolate, Hugs, Hurt Steve, Hurt/Comfort, Kisses, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Missions, Nightmares, Protective Natasha, Protective Steve Rogers, Rain, Riding, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Has Issues, Steve Rogers Feels, Supportive Clint Barton, Tattoos, Therapy, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Top Bucky, True Love, bed sharing, texts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 03:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3342503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_starbright/pseuds/starlight_starbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky returns to find something very wrong with Steve. Hurt/comfort, Natasha makes hot chocolate, cuddles with fuzzy blankets, deep conversations, tears, and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Drum (Baby Don't Stop Beatin')

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Phillip Phillips
> 
> When enemies are at your door  
> I'll carry you away from war  
> If you need help, if you need help.  
> Your hope dangling by a string  
> I'll share in your suffering  
> To make you well, to make you well.
> 
> Give me reasons to believe  
> That you would do the same for me.

Steve and Sam and Natasha have been searching for Bucky for six months, but Bucky doesn’t want to be found, and they know that. Sam tries to tell Steve this, and Steve knows, but he doesn’t care. He needs to find Bucky—to make sure his best friend is okay. Just to see him and make sure Bucky is taking care of himself. He needs to know, needs to see it for himself, but they’re always a day late. When they make it to the place Bucky’d been holing up, he’s already gone. Natasha is giving them all the information she can, but they’re always a step behind, always too little too late.

Steve doesn’t want to give up, but he’s starting to burn out. The nightmares and sleep deprivation and stress are getting to him, taking their toll on his body. He may be enhanced with the serum, but there’s only so much he can take before he breaks. 

He’s pretty fucking broken.

So one night, Sam demands that they take a few days off, checking them into an expensive hotel suite and making Steve take a shower, eat, lay down. Steve is restless—he can't seem to stay still, can't, can't, can't breathe. The room is too small and he has to find Bucky because if he doesn’t, S.H.I.E.L.D will. Or worse, HYDRA will.

It’s fucking terrifying.

But Sam says they aren’t going anywhere until Steve gets at least three hours of sleep, so he lies down and closes his eyes. Images explode behind his eyelids. _Hands, needles, blood._ He opens his eyes and rolls over. It’s times like these that he wishes he could get drunk. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes again. _Rough push, pain, can't scream, can't move, can't get away._ And shit, this isn’t going to work. Steve can't sleep. He goes back out to Sam and tells him this.

“Why not?” Steve sighs, sending Natasha a pleading glance. She just looks at him sadly, knowing Steve can't tell Sam. Won't tell Sam.

“It’s complicated, okay?” Sam pats the space on the couch next to him. Natasha is in the kitchen making hot chocolate, and the TV is on some show Steve’s never heard of.

“At least relax, then,” Sam says, not pushing, not demanding. Steve sighs and settles down. Natasha comes over and hands him a mug of steaming sweetness, squeezing his shoulder. He thanks her and sips at the molten chocolate, focusing on the heat, the slide of the liquid down his throat—anything but the demons in his head. His knee is bouncing and his fingers are drumming on the ceramic mug and he can't focus, can't. Natasha glances over at him worriedly, and he shakes his head. Sam sees the gesture, but doesn’t ask, and Steve’s grateful. The _if you want to talk about it, I'm here_ doesn’t need to be said. Steve knows.

“I’m gonna go sketch,” Steve says, standing up slowly. 

“Come get me if you need anything,” Natasha says as he walks away. He doesn’t respond to her. He knows he’ll need her if things get bad tonight. When he gets into his room, he sets the half-empty mug on the beside table and curls up in a ball on the bed. The tears don’t come tonight, but the shaking is there. The bone-deep exhaustion and outright anguish are tearing his body apart—fraying at his mind and pushing him to the edge.

He doesn’t notice the window is open until a shadow is cast over him.

“Stevie?” His head snaps up. That voice, that face, those eyes. No. _No._ He can't. Can't do it.

But it’s Bucky. It’s _Bucky_ and he has to. Steve stands, crosses the room to stand in front of the man in his bedroom. His shield is behind him, waiting for him if he needs it. Bucky’s soaked in rainwater and his clothes are torn, but otherwise he looks okay—not trying to kill him, at least. He looks solid. His eyes are bright and there’s a light shadow of stubble over his chin and his hair is long and _oh god he’s here and he’s real_.

“Bucky?” Steve wants to reach out, wants to touch because this could just be another nightmare, but Bucky has his arms wrapped around himself like he’s protecting himself from Steve. So Steve opts to act like this is normal. “Let’s get you into some dry clothes, yeah?” His voice barely shakes. Bucky nods and allows Steve to give him some clothes—just a shirt and some sweatpants because it’s all he has. Bucky changes quickly and Steve looks away, giving him privacy.

“Thank you,” Bucky says slowly, like he’s tasting the words on his tongue. “I’m sorry for running from you.” Steve looks at him, _really_ looks at him. There’s no hint of deception in his eyes, in his body language, but Steve reminds himself that the Winter Soldier is an assassin, that Steve is his mission. _But this is Bucky. Bucky came to find me and he’s here and he needs help._

“It’s okay. We’re okay. Are _you_ okay?” Steve gestures for the brunet to sit on the bed and Bucky does.

“Better than you, by the looks of it.” The older man cracks a smile and Steve huffs out a laugh. Even after everything, Bucky can still make him smile. 

“So you remember enough to be sarcastic,” Steve murmurs, still smiling slightly.

“I remember quite a lot, actually,” Bucky corrects him. Steve wrings his hands, listening. “I remember you. A lot of you. We were—are?—best friends.” 

“Are,” Steve interjects. A small smile plays at Bucky’s lips, but other than that he ignores the comment. 

“I remember that you used to get sick a lot and that I used to work a lot to get your medicine. I remember when your ma died and we took all the couch cushions and blankets in the apartment and slept on the floor. I remember that you came and got me out of that lab and that I was really confused because you were so much _bigger_ than I remembered.” Steve laughs softly at that. “I remember falling off of that train,” Bucky whispers, and Steve freezes. Of course he would remember that. It can't all just be good things, right? If only. If only Steve could take his pain away. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s all he _can_ say. But Bucky reaches out slowly to touch his hand. It sends shivers along Steve’s spine. The last time he’d been touched it hadn't turned out well.

“I also remember that it wasn’t your fault, Steve.” Steve nods, mute. He can't think around the hand touching him. Can't decide whether he wants to flinch or lean into it. “Most of what I remember is you. You and me. I don’t remember a lot from before you, and not a lot of after . . . after. But I'm guessing it’s all going to come back eventually, and I figured it was time to stop running.” Steve is speechless. Bucky has come back to him and he doesn’t want to run anymore and he remembers and he wants to be here. “Unless you . . . unless you want me to go.”

“No!” he protests, then curses. Natasha had definitely heard that. “Stay here,” he pleads. “Please. Sam and Natasha are in the other room and I need to explain. Please just don’t leave, okay? They’re not going to hurt you. I won't let them. Stay. Please.” Bucky looks apprehensive, but squeezes his hand. Bucky trusts him.

“I’ll stay.” Steve nods and sprints out of the room.

“Everything okay?” Sam asks.

“Bucky is here. In my room.” Natasha is on her feet in an instant, headed for the room, but Steve blocks her. “Natasha don’t,” Steve warns.

“Steve, he could kill you!” Steve takes her by the shoulders and dips his head to look her in the eyes.

“He remembers me, Nat. He remembers. Please. Leave him be. We can take him back to Stark Tower and get him into therapy. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but we can help him, Natasha.” He looks at Sam for reassurance and the man nods, willing to go along with what Steve says.

“We’ll keep an eye on him, Natasha,” Sam tells her. “He won't get to hurt Steve.” Natasha sighs and Steve knows he’s warned.

“Okay. But I don’t trust him. And if he touches you wrong, I will kill him.” Steve nods. He finally has Bucky. Bucky is going to recover and things will be fine, right? It’s one less stressor in his life. Maybe he’ll actually be able to sleep. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

-

A month after moving in with Steve, Bucky is progressing well. Or at lest he thinks so. He’s remembering more—good things as well as things the Asset did that he’s not proud of. Horrible things that give him heart-stopping nightmares. Therapy is helping, working out with Steve is helping, talking to Sam is helping. There’s just _so much_. So many things he doesn’t understand about the 21 st century. About Steve.

He remembers that he and Steve were . . . together? But Steve hasn’t touched him—at least not on purpose. Some nights, Bucky wakes up with Steve curled around him, warm and inviting. But as soon as Steve wakes up he stiffens and moves away. It’s confusing and it hurts, but Bucky can't bring it up. What if Steve doesn’t want him anymore? He doesn’t want to break the fragile, intangible thing that they have going whether it’s friendship or something more.

But something is definitely wrong with Steve. The blond has nightmares, too, but Bucky has no idea what about. He’s sure there are some from the war—he’s heard Steve wake up screaming his name, seen the fear in his eyes. Steve has nightmares about the train. And every time Bucky tells him that it wasn’t his fault, Steve’s eyes go dark and he changes the subject. So, yes, there’s something wrong with Steve. He mutters a name in his sleep, a name that Bucky doesn’t recognise. He’ll whimper out _no_ and _stop_ and that name that Bucky doesn’t know and can't quite make out.

Bucky thinks it’s him. That after he’d hurt Steve, something had changed. And why wouldn’t it? He’d almost killed him. Almost killed his best friend and he can't take that back. Can't make up for it. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t spend the rest of his life trying.

Bucky decided to ask Steve about it. They’re in the kitchen making dinner like they do every Friday night before movie night, and Bucky accidentally bumps Steve’s hip with his own. He sees the flinch, the darkness of Steve’s eyes at the innocent touch, and snaps.

“What is it, Steve?” he asks softly.

“’M sorry,” he whispers, looking down.

“What the hell for?” Steve looks up at him, sadness and pain flowing through ocean-blue eyes.

“For touching without permission.” Bucky sighs, rolls his eyes.

“You don’t need to ask me. I’ve gone seventy years without touch, without sensation. I don’t mind. I want it. I want to hug you and lay with you on the couch while we watch a movie and hold your hand and cuddle with you at night. But you . . . Who did this to you?” Steve looks at him wide-eyed and doesn’t say a thing. “I just barely touched you and you flinched. We’ve been friends forever. You know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose, right? I’m not the Asset. He isn’t me. I won't ever hurt you like that again.” Steve’s jaw works, trying to form words. Bucky knows the look well. 

“It’s not you, Bucky.” Bucky opens his mouth to protest, to ask another question, but Steve grabs his hand. “It’s not you, I swear. It’s . . . I don’t mind being touched by you. I like it. I _crave_ it.”

“You want me to touch you?” Bucky runs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles.

“Yes, of course. You remember us, I remember us. Just . . . warn me? Don’t take me by surprise.” Bucky sighs again.

“I don’t understand. I’m sorry.” Something’s happened to Steve and he doesn’t know what, but it was bad. Someone hurt him. Bad. 

Bucky wants to kill whoever did this to Steve. Wants to rip them apart and make them pay for hurting his best friend. It comes out of nowhere, but it feels like a normal reaction, like something he would have felt Before. He just can't stand that someone took those big, trusting eyes and turned them wary and closed off.

“No, I’m sorry. But I don’t know how to explain. And I don’t want to talk about it. You can touch me, it’s okay, just let me know before you do it, okay?” Bucky nods. 

“I’m going to hug you now, okay?” Steve pulls him in slowly, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist. Bucky tucks his face into Steve’s neck and breathes in deeply. “I love you, Stevie.” Steve’s breath catches. “You have to know that. And you don’t have to tell me what happened. You don’t.” Steve nods, shakes, trembles.

“Thank you,” he whispers. Bucky pulls away and things are slightly less tense between them. Bucky’d said the words and Steve hadn't said them back, but that’s okay. Bucky can wait. He knows Steve feels it too; he’s just not ready. So they eat dinner and grab blankets before heading to the main floor for movie night. Bucky and Steve take the loveseat and Bucky’s careful not to touch him as he sits down.

“Can I?” he asks, looking at Steve. The blond nods and Bucky moulds himself to Steve’s side. The younger man’s arm wraps around his waist and hauls him closer so that Bucky’s head is tucked under his chin. It feels good to be this close. It feels right. Like they’ve done this a million times. But it’s also different because Steve trusts him with this. 

Whatever happened to him, Steve trusts Bucky with this.

-

Two days later Steve and Bucky have an argument. Bucky’s in the kitchen making dinner—chopping tomatoes and carrots and potatoes for the stew he’s preparing. Steve comes in from a mission—an easy one, just him and Tony gathering some intel. He drops his shield at the door and goes into the bedroom to change—he doesn’t seem to be in a good mood. So, as usual, Bucky follows him to make sure he was okay.

Bad idea.

“Hey, Stevie. You okay?” Steve’s shirtless and Bucky knows he’s staring, but he really is concerned about Steve. His bad moods are getting more and more frequent and he talks about it less and less.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” he grouches, huffing a sigh and sprawling out on the bed. Bucky stays where he is, cautiously picking his next words.

“I just want to make sure you’re not hurt.” Steve glares up at him. “I’m worried about you, Steve. You’re miserable. You don’t talk about it. I’ve tried letting it go, but something’s hurting you and I just want to help.”

“I’m just really fucking pissed off. I’m allowed to be, okay! I have to run stupid missions with Tony annoying the shit out of me all day and then come home to an interrogation from you and I'm just really sick of it.” Bucky takes a step back, somewhat hurt and somewhat annoyed.

“I’m your best friend, Steve. I just want you to be happy.” Steve sits up, angry. 

“Are you my best friend? Are you? Because the Bucky I remember knew when to ask questions and when to leave me the hell alone. Bucky, just leave me alone. I want to be alone. Just . . . leave, okay? Just go. Get the fuck out.” And that hurts. _God_ it hurts. Bucky feels like he’s been stabbed through the heart. He’s not the Bucky that Steve wants. He’s not _him_ and he never will be. So he turns to leave, turning his back on Steve’s angry eyes. On his way out, he throws the vegetables in the CrockPot and sets the timer—just in case Steve wants to eat. Then he grabs his jacket and leaves.

He goes straight down to the bottom floor and steps out into the light drizzle of rain. Hurt and somewhat confused, he heads toward the closest Starbucks and gets a venti pumpkin spice latte—his favourite. He sits in one of the plush chairs and sips, looking out the window at the rain starting to get heavier, at the wind that’s starting to pick up. He kind of feels like the storm right now—wild and confused and angry.

Steve had yelled at him—had told him to leave. They don’t do that. They always talk things out. But more than being angry, Bucky is hurt. And it hurts so fucking bad that he can't be the Bucky he was. That he can't be what Steve wants. He had just wanted to make sure his best friend was okay. And yeah, Steve is definitely his best friend, but apparently he isn’t Steve’s. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe people change, they move on. Maybe Steve’s moved on from him. He has whole team behind him, of course he’s made new friends. Of course he’s moved on.

But Bucky also knows that Steve was speaking out of hurt. That doesn’t make it okay, not by a long shot, but the rational part of Bucky knows that Steve didn’t mean what he said. The punk had always spoken before thinking, had always said things he didn’t mean when angry. Bucky can't say he’s never done that; he’d be lying. That doesn’t make it hurt any less.

So he sits in Starbucks, buying multiple coffees and pastries and enjoying the background noise of the coffee shop and the storm. After two hours, he gets up and walks around in the rain some. The cold makes him nervous, but it also reminds him that he’s alive. That he’s here, that he’s recovering and doing well. Rain drops ping off of his metal arm, off of his leather jacket. They seem just as unhappy as he is, if rain can be unhappy.

Bucky already misses Steve. Misses warm hands and easy smiles. So he heads back to the tower, determined to talk this out. He’s not going to apologise for being concerned, but maybe he will for not respecting Steve’s space. Who knows? He won't until he gets there. On the elevator ride up, he pulls his phone out. _God_ Steve’s sent him four texts.

_I’m sorry I yelled at you. Please come back._

_Please, Buck. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t right of me to take this out on you._

_Bucky please stay safe. It’s getting crazy out there with this rain and this wind. Don’t leave me alone. I can't do this without you. Please come home._

_I'm a dick, I know. Just please come home. I'm worried about you. I'm sorry. Please._

Bucky’s heart hurts reading those messages on the small screen. So much pain transferred through black print and bright screens. Bucky can't wait to get back to their floor, to tell Steve that he forgives him, that he’s sorry for not respecting personal space. To possibly hear why Steve’s in such a bad mood. He may also want to punch Tony Stark in the face, by that’s secondary to making things right with Steve.

“JARVIS, is Steve alright?” he asks the AI, knowing JARVIS will know.

“It seems that Mr. Rogers has not left his floor. He seems to be upset, but not hurt.” Bucky sighs in relief.

“Thank you.” 

“Certainly, sir.”

The elevator pings softly and he gets off, walking into their living room. Steve is sprawled on the couch, eyes closed and tearstained. He opens his eyes and scrambles to get up when he sees Bucky. Bucky immediately opens his arms and welcomes the warmth of Steve against his cold body.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve murmurs, over and over again. Bucky smiles into soft blond hair and rubs his hand over Steve’s back, his other arm wrapped securely around that tapered waist.

“It’s okay, Stevie. Shh, it’s okay.” Steve chokes back his tears and apologises some more. “Hush, we’re okay. Just talk to me about it next time, yeah?” Steve pulls away to look at Bucky, eyes hopeful.

“Yeah. Yeah, Buck.” Bucky cocks his head, asking. Steve nods, and Bucky kisses him softly.

“I love you, you idiot. You getting pissed at me isn’t going to scare me away. I’m sorry that I . . . that I can't be the Bucky you knew. But I'm here and I'm trying. I can only . . . hope that it’s enough.” Steve looks appalled. 

“No! No, Bucky, no. I didn’t mean any of that. No. Fuck that. No. You’re everything. You're . . . you're fuckin’ everything to me, you know that?” Bucky smiles and kisses his nose.

“Okay. Okay calm down. I love you.” Steve smiles and kisses him, soft and sweet.

“Let’s get you warmed up, yeah? You made dinner. Go get changed. I’ll serve.” Bucky feels lighter as he strips his wet clothes off. He feels . . . happy. Steve is happy. Steve was smiling. Steve kissed him. He hadn't told Bucky what was wrong, but they’re okay. They’re okay, and that will come in time. 

-

Two weeks later, Bucky almost has a panic attack. Steve and the Avengers are out on a mission and it’s being televised on the news. Some robots or aliens or something—Bucky doesn’t care.

What he does care about is Steve. And as the cameras zero in on him, Bucky can see that he’s on the ground, the uniform torn to shreds, blood seeping out everywhere. Sam is standing over him, mouth forming words that Bucky can't make out. Tony is there, faceplate missing, looking beaten but no worse for the wear. Natasha and Clint are on top of a building, or so it seems from the angle of the camera. But the reporter is saying that Captain America is down. Bucky can't breathe. What does _down_ even fucking mean? He can't breathe. His phone rings. 

“We’re taking him to the hospital in the tower,” Tony tells him, no preamble. “It doesn’t look good, but he’s conscious. Probably won't die. We’ll be there in ten.” The line goes dead and Bucky is sprinting down the stairs to the right floor. Banner is already down there preparing. He hadn't gone with them. 

The team shows up eight minutes later, towing Steve and Clint in with them.

“Banner, take care of Clint,” Tony orders, taking Steve back to one of the private rooms. Natasha stops Bucky when he tries to follow.

“He’s asked you not be in there while Tony and I fix him up,” she says gently. 

“But why?” Bucky is barely holding back tears. Steve is in that room bleeding, dying, and Bucky isn’t there holding his hand. Steve won't let him.

“I can't tell you. But we’ll take good care of him.” Natasha turns around and makes for the room Steve is in. “You can wait out here. I’ll tell you when you can come in.” Bucky follows her mutely, numbly, and crumbles to the floor outside of the room. He works on taking deep breaths, on making his body stop shaking. Steve is hurt and bleeding and he isn’t in there. _Steve_ doesn’t want him in there. And that hurts. That hurts so much worse than anything that’s happened to him. Steve doesn’t want him.

Bucky waits for an hour, two, three. Pepper brings him coffee twice and after Banner is done stitching Clint up, the archer comes to sit with him, not saying anything. He places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, a gesture of comfort, and Bucky starts to shake again. He can hear Steve cry out every now and then, can hear the whir of the machines and Natasha and Tony speaking in hushed voices. He’s worried and tearstained and he’s bitten a hole through his cheek. He’s trying to have self-control, to heed Steve’s wishes that he not be in there, but it’s hard. It’s so hard because the man he loves is in pain. 

_Steve comes home with a bloody lip, clutching his stomach._

_“What was it this time?” Bucky asks, knowing Steve had gotten into some sort of fight. Steve looks at him sheepishly and allows Bucky to take him into the bathroom to clean him up._

_“Some guys were hurtin’ a dame. I couldn’t let them . . . they were goin’ to . . .” Steve trails off with a hiss of pain when Bucky tugs his shirt over his head. “I’m okay, Buck. It’s just a bruise.” But the mark on his Stevie’s pale skin is more than a bruise. The skin is already darkening and there are streaks of red across the flat surface of his abdomen. It’s tender, Bucky knows. He knows because Steve stiffens in pain at the first swipe of the washcloth. Bucky winces in pain for his friend._

_“This ain’t just a bruise, Steve.” Steve huffs a sigh and Bucky washes the blood off gently with warm water. “You should be more careful.” Steve tenses._

_“And let them rape her?” Bucky sighs and looks up at Steve, dabbing at his slip lip._

_“No. But you can't save everyone.”_  

The memory came out of nowhere, rushing through his mind and flooding his senses. He can hear Clint calling his name, but another memory hits.

_“Steve, you can't keep doin’ this,” Bucky says, stitching a wound over Steve’s hip. He had tried to take on three guys at one time. For what, Bucky didn’t know. He didn’t need to know. “One day, these guys are gonna to kill you. And where will that leave me?” Steve looks guilty as hell and Bucky wants to take the words back, wants to apologise, but Steve speaks before he can._

_“You’d be fine. You were fine before me. It’s me who needs you, not the other way around.” Bucky ties off the thread, sets the needle down, and takes Steve’s face in both hands._

_“You couldn’t be more fuckin’ wrong,” Bucky tells him fiercely, looking him straight in the eyes. “I need you like I need air, Steve. I need you exactly like you need me. Maybe even more.” Steve scoffs and pulls away, standing up and pulling his shirt back on._

_“You know that ain’t true, Buck,” Steve throws over his shoulder, walking into the bedroom. Bucky stands up and follows, anger coursing through his veins._

_“It’s completely true. Who would I be without you?” Steve lies down on the bed, stretching out like a cat, and doesn’t look at him._

_“Much better off, that’s what you’d be.” Bucky sits beside him and tries to take deep breaths. After a few moments, Steve finally looks up at him. Bucky can tell that the smaller man believes the words he’s saying and Bucky can't stand it. Can't live one more minute without this perfect person knowing just how important he is._

_“I love you, you idiot. I’d live if you died, yeah. But I'm not just gonna sit by and let you get yourself killed because you don’t know when the fuck to run away!” Steve sits up quickly, hand flying out to catch himself before he can tip over._

_“You . . . what?” Bucky sigs and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, closing his eyes. How could Steve be so oblivious?_

_“I love you. I love you so fuckin’ much and when you come home hurt like this it kills me. I feel like I can't breathe when I'm cleanin’ the blood off of you. I wish you’d just take care of yourself.” Steve looks at him, dazed._

_“You love me,” he says slowly. Bucky sighs and rolls his eyes, but he’s terrified._

_“That’s what I said, yeah.” Steve reaches a skinny hand out to wrap around Buck’s arm. Bucky tenses, unsure of what’s coming next. Steve looks confused, maybe upset, and Bucky can't tell what he’s thinking for once._

_“But I love you!” And instantly, the tension in the room is broken and both of them laugh, Bucky leaning in to press his lips to Steve’s._

_“You’re an idiot,” he mutters into warm lips. Steve smiles into the kiss._

_“Your idiot.”_

Bucky opens his eyes to find that he’s crying and on his back on the floor. Sam is leaning over him, two fingers over Bucky’s pulse point. Banner and Clint and Thor are standing around him, worried looks on their faces. Bucky can't shake the memories, can't shake the haunting feeling that something life-changing just happened.

“What the fuck was that?” he asks, his question pointed at Banner.

“You had a flashback. It’s okay, it’s normal. It was just more powerful than the others you’ve had. Probably the stress.” Everyone backs away from him, giving him some space. He pushes himself up, using the metal arm for support because it’s the only part of him that’s not shaking. “You should probably eat,” Bruce advises gently. “You need to get out of here for a bit. Steve will be fine. We’ll have JARVIS contact you if anything goes wrong.” Bucky feels the blood rush out of his face. _If anything goes wrong._ But the doctor is right. He needs to eat and he needs to distance himself from whatever is going on in that room.

“C’mon,” Clint says, holding a hand out to Bucky. He takes it, allowing Clint to pull him to his feet. “Let’s go order pizza. Nat will text me if anything changes with Cap.” Bucky nods and follows Clint to the main floor where they order enough pizza to feed half of Brooklyn. They eat silently until Thor and Sam come upstairs to join them. The three of them are loudly and good-naturedly arguing with each other about something that Bucky couldn’t care less about.

Bucky thinks about the memories for a moment. He hadn't ever been able to remember where his relationship with Steve started and now he knew. Steve had been broken and hurt and Bucky hadn't been able to stand it. Kind of like now. 

After an hour, Bucky wanders back down to the med ward. The door to Steve’s room is open and he can hear voices from the inside.

“Steve,” he hears Tony say warningly. A few more words are exchanged that Bucky can't hear.

“You have to tell him,” Natasha says. She doesn’t say it loudly, but Bucky can hear it. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but _what should Steve tell him?_ He coughs to let them know that he’s there.

“Bucky,” Natasha says, poking her head out of the door. “He’s okay. You can come in now.” He moves slowly, leaning against the wall for support before taking a deep breath and entering the room. Tony is fiddling with machines to Steve’s left, and there’s a chair to Steve’s right. Steve is laying on a hospital bed fully clothed in sweatpants and a dark coloured shirt looking pale but no less beautiful. His eyes are closed, but he’s awake. 

“We’ll leave you two alone,” Tony says, guiding Natasha out of the room. They seem to be tiptoeing around him. They know something that Bucky doesn’t. Steve told them something that he hasn’t told Bucky and that _never_ happens. It barely registers when the two of them leave and close the door behind them. Bucky is still plastered to the wall, too afraid to approach the blond on the bed.

“I’m not going to bite, Buck,” Steve says wearily, not opening his eyes. Something inside of Bucky breaks at that voice—at the tiredness, the exhaustion, the _pain_. He walks slowly to the chair before falling into it, unable to keep himself up any longer. Steve opens his eyes sluggishly and Bucky reaches out to take his hand.

“Can I?” he asks, remembering Steve’s words from what feels like forever ago. Steve nods and Bucky clasps his cold hand between both of his. “How bad is it?” Steve shrugs one beat-up shoulder and then winces. “Don’t downplay this. Please, Stevie.” The blond’s features soften at the nickname and he squeezes Bucky’s hand.

“I’m healing, really I'm okay. I just lost a lot of blood. But it’s okay, I'm okay.” Bucky’s head drops, his forehead falling to rest on Steve’s forearm. He breathes slowly, taking a deep breath and holding it for five seconds before letting it out—something his therapist had said helps deal with stress. And he’s really fucking stressed right now.

“You could have died,” Bucky whispers into the sheets. Steve removes his hand from Bucky’s grip only to card it through his hair.

“I’m right here, Buck. Right here. I'm not going anywhere.” Bucky lets himself cry, not caring if that makes him weak. He presses his face into his hands and lets his body shake, lets the saltwater fall from his eyes and onto the bed. “Shh, c’mere.” Steve makes room for him on the bed and Bucky curls up there, tucking his face into Steve’s shoulder. “I’m okay. We’re okay.” Bucky shakes his head. They’re not okay. Steve is keeping secrets and he’s never done that before. Something happened to Steve that makes him afraid of being touched. Someone hurt his Stevie and made him distrust Bucky. 

“Do you trust me?” Bucky asks, not looking up. Steve’s arm constricts around Bucky’s waist. 

“Of course, Buck.”

“What are you not telling me?” Steve stiffens for a moment and Bucky runs his fingers over Steve’s chest, placing his hand over Steve’s heart. His heartbeat is strong but beating a little too fast. Steve is afraid and Bucky mentally kicks himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking up. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me. Of course you’re allowed to have secrets. I mean, I tried to kill you. Well, not me, but you know what I mean—” 

“Shh,” Steve hushes him. Bucky was rambling, scrambling for something that would quiet the frantic beating of Steve’s heart. Warm lips press to Bucky’s forehead. “It’s okay. I’m going to tell you. Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever I get out of here. Just not here. Not here where so many people can overhear. I don’t want us to have secrets, but not here.” Bucky nods, content with that. He’s so tired.

“Love you,” he murmurs, drifting off to sleep. If Steve says it back, Bucky’s too far gone to hear it.

-

Three days later, Steve gets to move back up to their floor. He’s still not supposed to be moving around too much—prescribed bed rest and lots of sugary drinks by Tony—so Bucky piles all the pillows they have onto Steve’s bed before he comes up. He waits impatiently for a few minutes before he hears the elevator ding, and then Natasha is helping Steve hobble into their living room.

“Couch is fine, Nat,” Steve mutters, and the redhead complies, helping get him situated on the large sofa.

“I’m gonna put the pills on the kitchen counter, okay?” She’s addressing Bucky, but he ignores her. Not on purpose, but he can't stop staring at Steve. He hopes she understands. Bucky comes to stand with her in the kitchen.

“Как он?” Bucky asks in Russian. _Please tell me how he is,_ his question begs, _don’t downplay it, not to me, not ever._ She appraises him silently for a few moments.

“Он в настоящее время не в боли,” she replies finally. _Not in pain_ , he thinks. _That’s good._

“Спасибо.” And he means it. _Thank you for telling me, oh god he’s going to be okay._ She spouts off a few more sentences in Russian, saying some things he understands and some things he doesn’t. Not that he doesn’t understand the language—his Russian is spot-on—he just doesn’t understand why she’s saying them.

“Please,” she begs, in English now. “Just listen to him, okay?” Bucky nods, unable to speak. She touches his shoulder and then turns to leave, throwing a goodbye over her shoulder. Bucky takes a few deep breaths before grabbing a water bottle out of the fridge and going over to Steve. He sets the bottle on the coffee table and kneels in front of the blond. Steve’s eyes are closed, but he isn’t asleep.

“Can I?” Bucky asks, reaching out to touch him. Steve nods without opening his eyes and Bucky carefully—so carefully—places his hand on Steve’s cheek, cupping his jaw. “How do you feel?” He asks quietly, thumb stroking over Steve’s cheekbone. Bucky’s metal hand comes up to rest lightly over Steve’s. The blond scrunches up his face and makes an annoyed sound.

“Pissed that my body isn’t healing itself faster.” Bucky cracks a smile. Of course. Of course that’s what Steve would be worried about. “We need to talk,” he says quietly, finally opening his eyes. And _fuck_ —those eyes will be the death of him. Ocean blue filled with so much pain that Bucky sees red—wants, once again, to rip apart the person who did this. This . . . whatever it is. “Come up here, please.” Steve moves to make room for Bucky in the corner of the couch. Bucky moves slowly, situating himself on the couch. He folds one leg under himself and stretches the other out along that back of the sofa. Steve settles down, head pillowed on Bucky’s stomach. 

“You comfortable there, Stevie?” Bucky teases, reaching to run his fingers through Steve’s hair. He feels the younger man flinch just a tiny bit, but doesn’t comment. Steve has his eyes closed again. “We don’t have to,” he whispers. If it hurts Steve this much to talk about it, Bucky doesn’t want to know.

“Yes we do. No secrets, right?” Bucky nods and then says the _yes_ because Steve’s eyes are still closed.

“Back before the helicarrier, Sam, Nat, and I were arrested by S.H.I.E.L.D. They had us in an armoured truck to transport us to headquarters, I guess. But . . . you have to understand that I had a team other than the Avengers. A team that was with me on all of my missions and had my back every time I got in a tight place. A team that I put my trust in. And that team turned out to be HYDRA. You know him—Brock Rumlow.” Bucky nods, still carding his fingers through Steve’s hair. The younger man has his eyes open now, but he isn’t looking at Bucky. In fact, he’s looking anywhere but at Bucky. “So they arrested us, but before Agent Hill got us out, they took us to another facility to have us questioned. That’s when he got me alone.” Steve shudders at the memory and Bucky tightens his hold on the younger man. He can almost taste the pain in Steve’s voice. 

“Steve . . .” Bucky knows where this is heading. He knows Rumlow. He knows what the guy was capable of.

“Let me finish. Rumlow got me alone and . . . I was just so hurt, y’know? I had trusted him, put my life in his hands. And so when he came in, I thought that maybe it would be to apologise. Or to give me an explanation. I didn’t see that he had a syringe full of a tranquiliser in his hand. And I was already so tired, Buck, that I couldn’t fight him off. After everything, I still trusted too easily. And . . . Bucky, I’m gonna tell it to you straight, okay?” Steve twists to look at him and it _has_ to hurt, so Bucky maneuvers their bodies so that Steve can look at him without hurting himself. One large artist’s hand twists in the fabric of Bucky’s shirt.

“I love you,” Bucky says firmly, looking right into those endless blue eyes. “I want you to know that. And that whatever happened, _that is not going to change_.” Steve sighs and closes his eyes. “Can I . . . can I kiss you?” Bucky asks, wary. Steve opens his eyes and looks at him for a few seconds before nodding his head. Bucky leans down slowly, giving Steve plenty of time to back out, and presses his lips to the blond’s. Hopefully it comes off as reassuring and grounding. Hopefully Steve knows that he’s Bucky’s anchor and that Bucky is there to be his. “Okay, you can continue,” Bucky whispers, pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead.

“He sedated me and . . .” Steve is shaking. “And he raped me,” he finishes quietly. Bucky closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, using all of his control not to squeeze Steve’s body as close to his as possible. “He started just by touching—and not gently. Not at all. None of this was gentle. It was all rough ands and nasty words and _you want me to fuck you, fuck the righteousness right out of you._ Apparently HYYDRA gave him clearance to do whatever it took to break me. And he chose . . . _that_. He chose to hurt me, to take away the one thing that I had kept for myself, the one thing I wanted to keep between me and you. It wasn’t bad enough that they took you away from me, but they had to take away what we had together, too.” Steve is shaking hard now, tears forming in his eyes. He’s looked away, down at his hands where they’re trembling in his lap. “I told him to stop. I told him _no_. I tried to fight it, to get him off of me. The serum works fast, but it was a heavy sedative and the serum didn’t work fast enough.” Steve closes his eyes and Bucky can't breathe. 

“Steve—”

“I still have marks from it. I didn’t think I could scar anymore. But that’s why when I came back, I didn’t want you in there. I didn’t want you to see them, to see the scars in a place that only you and I had ever seen.” Bucky opens his eyes and looks down at the blond in his arms.

“So Natasha and Tony know?” Steve nods, still not looking at him.

“I had to tell Natasha . . . she would have found out anyway. And, it may seem strange, but I count Tony as one of my closest friends. I didn’t tell Sam because he’d’ve forgotten the mission and tried to kill Rumlow the second he got the chance. Getting you back . . . it was all that was important to me. Natasha understood that. Understood that the best way to help me was to find you. So we didn’t tell Sam. I still don’t want to tell Sam.” Steve stops talking, the tears choking him. _He’s in pain, Bucky, do something._

“Shh, Stevie,” he whispers, running his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Shh, it’s okay. I'm here now. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you. I'm right here.” Steve’s taking deep, gasping breaths now, trying to calm himself. “I’m gonna go grab your painkillers, okay?” Steve twists around so fast that it nearly knocks Bucky off the couch.

“Please don’t leave,” the younger man begs. He’s looking up at Bucky, blue eyes rimmed with red. “Please don’t. Please.” Bucky nods—its all he can do—and tucks Steve back into his arms, the bond’s face pressed into his neck. “You’re the only reason,” Steve whispers, voice trembling. “The only reason I didn’t . . .” Bucky stiffens.

“You can't do that to me, Steve.” Bucky pulls his face up so he has to look at him. “You don’t get to leave me like that, okay?” If Steve had hurt himself, if Steve had _killed_ himself . . . _God_ that would have been the end. Bucky wouldn’t have gotten free of HYDRA. Would’ve never been able to hold Steve like this again. “Don’t ever hurt yourself. Please. When you hurt, I hurt.” Steve nods and presses a watery kiss to Bucky’s jaw.

“I’m . . . I'm not what I was, Buck,” Steve admits, searching Bucky’s face. “I don’t know how to . . . do this. I’m terrified. But I want to be with you.” Steve is here and Steve is trying and Steve is _so fucking brave_ —always has been. He’s sat here and told Bucky about the man who raped him, about the aftermath. He’s told Bucky everything—ripped his heart out and handed it to Bucky to take care of, and Bucky isn’t going to let go. He’s never going to let go.

“I don’t care, Steve. I don’t care if I never get to kiss you again. As long as I can touch you . . . if you’ll let me hold you when you have nightmares and be by your side in a fight. And after everything, you can come home to me and leave Captain America at the door. And we’ll just be Steve and Bucky, two kids from Brooklyn dealing with life and it’s fallouts.” Steve looks at him like he’s the sun. “You’re so brave, Stevie. So fucking brave and I'm so goddamn proud of you.” He leans down to look closer at Steve, asking with his eyes. He gets the nod, and kisses Steve softly, gently. He wants to be everything Steve wants and everything Steve needs. He’ll be whatever Steve wants him to be. He’ll do whatever has to be done to keep this man in his arms safe.

“I love you,” Steve says between kisses. “You said it before.” _Kiss._ “But I was afraid,” _kiss_ “that once you knew,” _kiss_ “that you wouldn’t want me.” Bucky kisses him with a bit more pressure this time, pouring his soul into it. Of course Steve would be afraid of that. That’s normal for a victim of sexual assault.

“Of course I still want you,” Bucky reassures him, pulling back only enough to speak. Their lips brush together as he talks. “Nothing will ever change that.” Steve kisses him one more time before falling back onto Bucky’s chest, breathing heavily. “You’re hurting, Stevie. Let me get your medicine and take you to bed, yeah?” Steve nods and Bucky gets up slowly, making sure not to jostle the broken body on top of him. His leg is pins and needles from sitting on it for so long, but Bucky doesn’t care.

He grabs the bottle of pills and the bottle of water and hands them to Steve, and before the other man can protest, Bucky’s scooped him up into his arms and whisked him away to his bedroom. The room is dim, but they can both still see perfectly. Bucky lays Steve down and tucks him under the covers before handing him two of the pills and pressing the lip of the bottle to his lips. Steve never breaks eye contact, swallowing and laying back.

“I brought all the pillows in here,” Bucky tells him. “I can sleep on the other bed, or on the couch, if you want.” Steve shakes his head and pats the mattress beside him.

“You don’t go anywhere without me, got it?” Bucky cracks a smile and gets into the bed beside his . . . boyfriend?

“Not even to pee?” Steve laughs, and Bucky knows it hurts him, but it’s the best sound in the world.

“You know what I meant.” Bucky smiles again and pulls Steve into his arms. The blond goes willingly, plastering himself to Bucky’s side. “I’ll be okay, Buck,” he whispers after a while. “We’ll be okay. I love you.” Bucky kisses his hair, metal hand running in circles over Steve’s spine. 

“I love you, too.”

-

Over the next two weeks, Bucky only has to wake Steve up from his nightmares five times. They sleep in the same bed, Bucky’s warm body curled around Steve’s with his head on Bucky’s chest. It’s the best way to wake up—the brunet’s hair sticking up every which way and lines from Bucky’s shirt imprinted on Steve’s cheek. Bucky looks so peaceful when he wakes up. It’s become routine for Steve to kiss him when he wakes, for Bucky to check Steve’s injuries. Steve is never shirtless around him, but Bucky never pushes. He lifts Steve’s shirt enough to change bandages and assess stiches and healing, but leaves it at that.

After two weeks, Steve is fully healed and doing just fine by himself. He feels lighter having Bucky know what happened and still accepting him. He feels so much love for this man who’d dove face first into Steve’s issues, who had put his own recovery on the line to be what Steve needed. Bucky is still in therapy, still journaling every night. He tells Steve about his nightmares sometimes, and on the rare occasion that Bucky wants to talk about it, Steve listens. They’ve gotten better at communicating—something Bucky’s therapist has told him to work on. Steve wants to be what Bucky needs— _needs_ to be everything the brunet wants.

He’s so in love.

Friday night is movie night and all of the Avengers except for Bucky and Clint are in the living room. Steve is talking to Tony off to the side while Natasha and Pepper make popcorn and Sam goes down to the main floor to get the pizza. Thor and Bruce are picking out a movie. Steve is telling Tony about the last few weeks, about his recovery. Thanking him for the millionth time for saving his life.

“If I’d’ve known that saving your life would get you off my ass, I would’ve done it months ago, Capsicle.” Steve rolls his eyes at the nickname.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Tony grins and walks backward toward the sofas.

“But I'm _your_ idiot.” 

“Actually, you're not,” Bucky says from the direction of the elevators. Tony’s grin widens when Bucky wraps both of his arms around Steve from behind. “That position is already taken.” Bucky kisses the back of Steve’s neck. They’d gotten past having to ask to touch, gotten past the initial hesitancy and tentativeness.

“Come on, lovebirds. It’s movie time.” Steve leads Bucky over to the loveseat that has their blankets on it and Bucky positions himself in the corner of the couch. He empties his pockets of his knives and guns, laying them out carefully on the small table next to the couch. 

“Didn’t know you packed an arsenal for movie night,” Steve teases, curling up in Bucky’s lap. Steve knows that Bucky never goes anywhere without a weapon. Not since he’d gotten back. Steve doesn’t blame him. One day, they’ll all be happy that Bucky was prepared.

“Got all the ammunition I need right here,” Bucky murmurs in his ear, running his metal hand down the front of Steve’s chest.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, tipping his head back to look at Bucky, to catch the playful glint in pale blue eyes.

“Absolutely.” Bucky leans down and kisses him softly before pulling away and wrapping them up in multiple soft blankets. Bucky likes to be warm. _I've spent seventy years being cold_ , he’d told Steve. _I want to be warm whenever possible._ The difference between the two of them is that Steve was cold and unconscious while Bucky was being forced in and out of cryo-freeze _awake_.

The movie starts and Steve feels Bucky start to mindlessly play with his hair. It’s something that Steve loves and Bucky loves to do. Steve thinks that touch is still one of Bucky’s favourite things—after all, he’d been touch-starved for almost seventy years. _The Asset was not allowed pleasure of any form_ , Bucky’d told him. Steve still hurts for Bucky sometimes, for the time they’d spent apart. It’s never going to go away, that hurt, but they’re together now and they try not to dwell on it.

Bucky’s been so worried about Steve that he hasn’t been able to see how well he’s doing, but Steve sees it. Bucky used to sleep with a gun under his pillow and a knife in his hand. He used to wake up screaming and lock himself in the bathroom. Initially, he only trusted Steve, and now he’s in the gym almost every day with Clint. It makes Steve happy to see Bucky adjusting so well.

Steve startles when he feels Bucky’s flesh hand ghost over his thigh. He leans back to try and catch a glimpse of Bucky’s face, but he’s expressionless, looking intently at the screen. But then, a few minutes later, it happens again and Steve is _so ready_ for this game. They’re out of practice, sure—seventy years is a long time—but Steve has a strong belief in muscle memory.

Halfway through the movie and Steve can't take it anymore. Can't take the soft hand running over his thighs through his thin pyjama pants. So he gets up and hauls Bucky to the elevators.

“Hey!” Tony calls. “What happened to movie night?” Steve turns around when he reaches the glass doors. 

“Fuck you, Stark.” Natasha laughs.

“Pay up, boys,” she calls. Steve smiles and Bucky’s hand finds its place on Steve’s hip under his pants. As soon as the doors open, Bucky has Steve pressed gently against the wall of the elevator, kissing gentle-careful over his neck. Steve can't help the moan that rips out of his chest when he bucks his hips to find Bucky’s thigh waiting for him. When they get to their floor, Bucky drags Steve out and into their room, laying him down softly on the mattress.

“You stop me when you want to stop,” Bucky says, looking down at Steve.

“I don’t . . .” Steve gets lost in the pale blue of his eyes for a minute. “I don’t know if I wanna stop.” Bucky smiles softly and kisses him again—slow, deep, everything Steve’s ever wanted. 

“Just . . . shove me or kick me or something.” Steve nods, smiling. Bucky is going to go at Steve’s pace, at a pace that makes him comfortable. It almost makes his heart hurt.

“I love you,” he whispers, reaching for the back of Bucky’s neck. He pulls him in for a kiss and moans softly at the taste of Bucky on his tongue. He tastes faintly like smoke and rain—a combination that doesn’t sound good but irrefutably _is_. Cool metal cups his flushed cheek, warm tongue probing deeper into his mouth. The brunet pulls back to yank his shirt over his head and Steve doesn’t try to advert his gaze. He drinks it in, runs his hand over the tan skin, feeling the muscles ripple when Bucky leans back down to kiss him again.

“Can I take this off?” Bucky asks gently, pulling at the hem of Steve’s shirt. He hesitates for a heartbeat before nodding and smiling at the man on top of him. Bucky grins and pulls the fabric off, touching gently. “ _Holy fuck_ ,” Bucky exclaims, tracing fingers over the faint line of ink on Steve’s clavicle. 

“Oh, I’d forgotten about that,” Steve muses, grinning up at his lover. “You like it?” It says _‘til the end of the line_ in a simple, thin black script. Bucky nods and then bends to run his tongue over it. Steve sucks in a breath and twists his fingers into long, dark hair. Bucky chuckles at his reaction and kisses the tattoo softly. “It’s not my only one,” Steve tells him.

“Jesus fuck, Stevie.” Steve leads his hand down to his hip, pushing the fabric of his pants down a little. His second one lays right on his hipbone. He lifts up a bit so that Bucky can see the _punk_ written in the same simple black script. Bucky gives that one the same treatment and then moans, pulling at Steve so that he can kiss him. Bucky kisses him roughly, lips at contrast with the gentle way Bucky is holding him.

“You know I'm getting matching ones, yeah?” Steve laughs, feeling light and happy. Bucky kisses him again, pressing his boy down into Steve’s. It’s been almost a year—Steve can do this. For himself, for Bucky, for _them_. He wants to. He wants this. Bucky groans when Steve bucks his hips up, pressing their groins together. “Steve,” he breathes. “That’s it, baby, yeah.” Steve whines and pulls Bucky down closer with a hand on his neck and a hand on the small of his back. The skin there is warm, flushed. The older man bears down, pressing Steve farther into the mattress and thrusts hard, jolting Steve up the bed.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps into their kiss. “Take your pants off,” he orders, letting Bucky’s bottom lip slide out from between his teeth. Bucky looks at him to make sure, and when Steve nods, Bucky does one better. He takes all of his clothes off before removing all of Steve’s.

“You’ll still stop me?” the brunet asks. “If it’s too much?” Steve sits up to kiss him.

“Yeah, Buck. Yeah.” He kisses him one more time. “But I want you. Right now.” Bucky grins like he’s won the lottery, like Steve is air and he’s dying to breathe. Steve rifles through his drawer for the lube and sets it on the nightstand it came out of, willing to take this slow. Willing to draw this out. Bucky leans back over him, kissing him slowly before mouthing his way down Steve’s neck. His lips trace the line of ink over Steve’s collarbone, tongue tracing the words.

“It’s true,” he whispers into the skin. Bucky trails lower, taking one of Steve’s nipples in his mouth and sucking. A noise comes out of Steve’s mouth that would be embarrassing if it hadn't been _Bucky_ making him sound like this. He’s noisy and needy and _wanting_ and Bucky’s prepared to give him what he needs. “So fucking responsive, Stevie.” That Brooklyn-boy accent is driving Steve mad and he tangles his hand in Bucky’s hair, pushing down. Bucky laughs, getting the message, breath hot over Steve’s oversensitive skin.

“Don’t tease, Buck.” Bucky takes this into consideration for a moment, cocking his head and looking up at Steve. His gaze burns a hole into Steve’s chest and he feels exposed and vulnerable, but in a good way—if that’s possible. The next thing Steve knows, Bucky’s mouth is on his cock and Steve keens loudly. “ _Fuck_ ,” he gets out, chest heaving. Bucky’s mouth is a fuckin’ miracle and Steve can't help but remember all the times they’ve done this before. All the times Bucky doesn’t remember. “Do you remember any of this?” Steve asks, curious. Bucky looks up, pulling off his dick.

“Most of it, yeah.” Bucky kisses the tattoo over Steve’s hip. “Remember enough to make you feel good.” Bucky gestures wildly at him and Steve hands him the lube. He hears Bucky pop the cap and squeeze some onto his fingers. “Still okay?” he asks, looking at Steve for permission.

“Yeah, Buck. I want your fingers inside of me.” Bucky’s eyes close and he takes a deep breath before pushing a long finger inside Steve’s body. His other hand soothes along Steve’s hip.

“Relax, baby. I’m gonna take care of you.” Steve freezes, muscles seizing up. _I’ll take care of you, captain._ “Stevie?” Bucky sounds worried. “Steve. Steve, do you want to stop?” He goes to pull away, like he’s going to get off of the bed. Steve panics.

“No!” Steve says. “No, I just . . . don’t say that, okay. Please? It’s what he said to me.” Bucky’s brow furrows. “Please don’t leave. Just . . .” Bucky leans down and kisses him softly.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Stevie. You want this, I’m happy to give it to you. I won't hurt you.” Steve nods and pulls him down for another kiss.

“Please,” he begs, lifting his hips. Bucky’d started moving his finger again. “More, please, Buck.” Bucky grins and pushed another finger into Steve’s hole. Those fingers stretch him, brushing against his prostate in the sweetest form of torture. Bucky knows what he’s doing to Steve, too, because he knows Steve and goddamn it Bucky’s doing this to him on purpose. He adds another finger and Steve thinks he might die like this—it’s too much and not enough and he needs _more._  

“You ready, baby?” Bucky asks sweetly, kissing Steve’s clavicle tattoo.

“Fuck me, please,” Steve moans, trying to pull Bucky toward him. He hasn’t gotten to touch, hasn’t even really gotten to see any of Bucky. The brunet had been lavishing such attention on him that Steve hadn't noticed. “Wait,” he says, and Bucky hesitates. “Get on your back, soldier.” Bucky grins and they reverse their positions. Bucky’s all laid out in front of him—hard muscle and tan skin and that shiny metal arm glinting in the dim light. “You’re a fuckin’ dream,” Steve whispers. Bucky grins at him, eyes dark with lust.

“So now that ya got me here, whatcha gonna do with me?” Bucky drawls, folding his arms behind his head. Steve leans down and bites the sensitive skin over a hip before taking Bucky’s cock all the way down his throat. “ _Fuck!_ ” Bucky sputters, slamming his head back into the pillows. Steve would be grinning if he could, but he focuses on what he’s doing, sucking and licking at the dick in his mouth. “Steve, get the fuck up here.” Steve grins, pulling off, and moves to straddle the older man’s hips. “Want you to fuck yourself on my cock,” Bucky murmurs, moving his hands to grip at Steve’s hips.

“Yes,” Steve breathes, sinking down slowly. And _god_ Bucky’s big. Bigger than he remembers, which was perfect in and of itself. The hands on his hips make him kind of nervous, but they’re not holding him down—if anything, they’re grounding him, letting him know that this is real, that this is happening, and that Bucky loves him.

“Jesus fuck, Stevie,” Bucky breathes. Steve has taken him all the way inside and is rolling his hips slowly. “You okay?” Steve leans down to kiss him.

“Christ, whaddya think, Buck?” Bucky laughs and bucks up when Steve starts to pick up his pace. He’s trying so hard to stay still, to not frighten Steve, and Steve is grateful. Maybe he’ll get there, he doesn’t know, but for now, Bucky seems content with slow. In fact, he seems to be completely wrecked. His metal hand has reached up to grab onto the headboard for support, eyes closed and head thrown back. Steve can't let that opportunity go to waste. He leans down and sucks hard on Bucky’s neck, leaving a mark that’ll be gone in a few hours.

“Shit, Steve. Yeah, baby, that’s it. Right there.” Steve snaps his hips harder, faster, feeling the heat pool below his navel. He’s going to come soon, and he wants Bucky right there with him. “Yeah, sweetheart. Ride me. Fuck yeah, Steve.” And damn if that doesn’t get Steve going. He’s always loved it when Bucky talked during sex. It’d always been the one thing that got Steve hot and bothered the most, but seeing Bucky like this, after so many years apart . . . it just _wrecks_ him. 

“God, Buck. Keep talkin’ like that and this’ll be over in two minutes.” Bucky grins up at him all lopsided and beautiful.

“You like that, baby?” Steve moans, digging his knees into the mattress and bracing his hands on Bucky’s chest to drive himself down harder. “Oh, you do, don’t you, kitten? Love it when I talk to you. Jesus, Stevie, look at you. All wet and leaking on my stomach. So hard for me, baby.” And it’s true. Steve’s cock is so hard it’s almost painful—slapping against Bucky’s stomach with every downward thrust of his hips. Bucky is urging him on with his flesh hand now, metal hand still clasped to the headboard so hard that it must be leaving fingerprints in the dark wood. “Pretty baby. So good for me, yeah? You’re gonna make me come, Steve. Gonna come so hard inside of you. Gonna fill you up ‘till you're drippin’ with me.”

“God,” Steve moans, leaning down to capture that sinful mouth with his own. The things Bucky _says_. Jesus. 

“You gonna come, Stevie?” Steve whines, beyond words at this point. “Go on, sweetheart. Come all over yourself. Come on my cock, baby. I wanna feel you clench around me. I wanna hear you scream so loud you’ll wake everyone up.” Steve can feel his orgasm approaching, but he’s not quite there. Angling his hips, he drives down, Bucky’s dick rubbing against his prostate. He lets out a sound between a cry and a moan, repeating the motion again and again until he can't breathe and he’s coming hard over Bucky’s chest. “Shit, Steve. Yeah, that’s it, baby. Come for me.” Both of Bucky’s hands are on his hips, the brunet fucking up into him, still hitting his prostate. He can feel Bucky coming inside of him, can hear some semblance of words spilling out of the older man’s mouth, but can't make it out. Can't focus on anything other than his orgasm that hasn’t seemed to stop.

He must’ve lost track of time because by the time he’s focused again, he’s been cleaned up and is back in Bucky’s arms, covers tucked around the two of them. Bucky is stroking his hair, blunt nails running over Steve’s scalp lightly. He leans into the touch, seeking more. He feels weightless—like his problems has been lifted out of his body and stored in a corner somewhere for the night. It’s a wonderful feeling, being here with Bucky, being safe and loved and content in the afterglow of probably the best sex they’d ever had. 

“I love you,” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s shoulder. The brunet kisses his forehead.

“Love you, too, Stevie.” There’s a stretch of silence, for how long Steve doesn’t know. But it’s nice. It’s nice just laying in the quiet, post-coital bliss until something dawns on Steve.

“ _Kitten_?” Bucky’s laughter shakes the entire bed. “Really, Bucky? Kitten?” Bucky just laughs harder. Steve can't find it in his heart to be aggravated, the way Bucky’s laughing right now.

“You scratched the hell out of me!” Steve pulls back and looks at Bucky’s chest. He’s right. Deep red marks cover his chest accompanied by ten crescent-moon indentations in perfect skin. 

“Oops.” They’re both laughing now.

“To be honest, I don’t know half of the shit that comes out of my mouth when you’re doing that to me. It’s like I can't think straight.” Steve smiles up at him. 

“Yeah?” The older man looks down at him, pale blue eyes glinting, and captures his mouth in a sweet kiss.

“Yeah.” The smile sticks on Steve’s face. He can't form the words to tell Bucky how he’s feeling, so he just cuddles in close and Bucky turns out the light. Steve is hoping beyond hope that this is going to last, that Bucky won't get sick of him being broken and needy in a few months. But Bucky’d never left him before—not on purpose, anyway. Steve’d been broken and needy Before and Bucky’d only ever taken care of him and given him what he’d needed. That wouldn’t change now, right? “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” Steve tips his head back, still smiling stupidly. Bucky’s smile is softer, barely a quirk of his lips, but there all the same.

“Don’t ever leave me, okay?” Bucky swoops down and kisses him. The kind of kiss that’s anchoring, grounding, and reassuring.

“Never.” Bucky pushes Steve’s hair back, smiling at him some more. Neither of them can stop smiling. “Never, Steve. You’re stuck with me.” Steve laughs and nuzzles into Bucky’s neck, kissing softly.

“I can live with that.” Bucky kisses his hair, arms coming around Steve to hold him tightly to his chest. 

“Get some sleep, baby. It’s late.” Steve nods and get comfortable, letting the scent of smoke and rain lull him into sleep.

-

It’s Bucky and Steve against the world now. They’re a team—inseparable. The Winter Soldier and Captain America. The media has a field day with that one, but then Tony comes out and defends them, says that Bucky is the best fighter he’s ever seen and that the Avengers are lucky to have him. After that, Bucky warms up to Tony some. They redesign Bucky’s arm and talk about science stuff that Steve knows nothing about. It’s good that Bucky is getting along with the rest of the team.

Clint has taught Bucky how to shoot a bow—he caught onto that quickly.

Sam and Bucky go for runs together and Bucky’s begun to confide in Sam, something that Steve’s been telling him that he could do for a long time.

Natasha and Bucky warm up to each other slowly, relearning their friendship. 

Thor and Bucky had hit it off immediately, and Bucky sees Thor as his closest friend—other than Clint and Steve, of course.

Bruce and Bucky get to talking while Tony is attaching Bucky’s arm and they talk for hours about science and technology—it’s good for Bucky.

Steve finally comes out and tells the team what happened with Rumlow. They rally behind him, letting him talk about it, cry about it. They’re the best friends Steve could ask for, the best team Steve could ask to have behind him.

Bucky gets those matching tattoos he’d talked about. _‘Till the end of the line_ over his collarbone and _jerk_ over his hipbone—the same place Steve has his. Except he had come back home without telling Steve he’d gotten them and _that_ turned in to mind-blowing sex. Of course.

All in all, things are good. Actually, they’re great. He has a wonderful boyfriend—soon to be fiancée after tonight—and great friends such as Natasha to help him pick out their rings. She jokes that they’re practically married anyway, but Steve explains to her that being gay in the forties was a death sentence, so this is a big step for both of them. 

Steve takes Bucky out to dinner at a fancy restaurant that they’d never have been able to afford before. It blows Bucky away—he still hasn’t fully adjusted to the whole 21st century thing. They order whatever they want—price isn’t an issue—and Steve gets them a bottle of scotch. It’s not for the alcohol so much as just having it for Bucky. He likes the taste. So they drink and eat and all the while, the ring is burning a hole in Steve’s pocket.

Bucky looks so gorgeous. He’s in a very nice black dress shirt and black slacks. He’s serene—beautiful. It’s distracting, really. But Steve is nervous and he needs a distraction. So he smiles and laughs and glares at anyone who openly stares at them. Captain America and the Winter Soldier out on a date.

After their dinner, Steve drives them to the park on his bike, Bucky’s arms wrapped around his waist. It’s a perfect night—not too hot, not too cold. When they get to the park, he takes Bucky’s hand and leads him down to the small pond. They sit on the blanket Steve provides and lay back, looking up at the stars. 

“It’s beautiful,” Bucky breathes. Steve rolls over to look at him. He looks so happy. He’s going to ask. Now.

“You’re beautiful.” Steve gets his phone out and puts on the song he’d chosen for this moment. He hauls Bucky up and pulls him into his arms. “Dance with me?” Bucky laughs and Steve twirls him before pulling him close, moving in a slow circle in the middle of Central Park at ten PM.

_People fall in love in mysterious ways . . ._

Steve kisses Bucky softly, holding him as close as he can and still move in their small circle.

_Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars_

_Place your hand on my beating heart_

_Thinking out loud_

_Baby we found love right where we are._  

“I have a question,” Steve whispers into Bucky’s ear.

“Yeah? What’s that?” Steve pulls away, hand reaching into his pocket. He drops to one knee, holding Bucky’s flesh hand tightly.

“James Buchannan Barnes. I’ve loved you for my entire life. I loved you when we were six years old and you helped me up after I’d scraped my knees. I loved you when we were fifteen and Billy Anderson beat me up in the alley behind the school and you came and punched him in the face. I loved you at twenty-six when you went off to the army, when you kissed me goodbye and told me you loved me and that you’d come back to me. My heart broke for you when I found you in Zola’s lab, but I loved you then, too. I loved you for the seventy years I was in the ice. I loved you when I saw you for the first time on the bridge. I loved you when you showed up in my hotel room that night. I love you now.

You’re my other half. My soulmate. My best friend. I love you. ‘Till the end of the line. Will you marry me?” He presents the ring to a shocked Bucky—a simple pale gold band glinting in the moonlight.

“Yes,” Bucky whispers, dropping to his knees next to Steve. He kisses the brunet softly, sliding the ring into place. “I love you, you sap.” Steve laughs and kisses him again. This is exactly where Steve wants to be. Right here, with Bucky—his to-be husband—in the middle of Central Park kissing softly under the stars. This. This is everything.

_Baby we found love right where we are._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If the Russian is off, let me know and I'll fix it. I just used google translate. 
> 
> Come hang out with me on tumblr.
> 
> http://castielhasthephoneboxx.tumblr.com


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